It's Not The Side Effect of the Whiskey
by relativelystupid
Summary: Daryl denies what could have been. How could he accept?


**A response of some of the fellows who said they liked a Rickyl fic. Well, I kinda bashed it a little. Don't really like the pairing. But they're beautiful.** **Enjoy ma little ducklings.** **DISCLAIM ON U, DISCLAIM ON U COW, DISCLAIM ON U FAMILY, DISCLAIM ON DA CHARACTERS**

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It was _always_ the whiskey.

"Rick— uh!" Daryl bucked and trashed as their leader came inside him, much more pissed drunk than he'd imagine. The hunter pushed his face down on the soft grass, tears rolling down his cheeks as the ex-cop fiddled with his hole once more, stretching it again for his wide, fat cock. Don't get him wrong, it wasn't like he hated it. He just hated the terms they were doing it. It may sound pussy-whipped, but it's true. Just because he doesn't show any emotions, he may be the most emotionally unattached and just plain ignorant, doesn't mean he gets to be the sex toy.

"Daryl.." Rick gasped as he buried himself inside the submissive man underneath him, tightness and wetness overwhelming him in more ways than one. But Rick knew better than to tell that to the man beneath him. It was always the whiskey. Pulling back, he heard Daryl mewl pleasurably, making his cock harden more than it already was.

If Daryl was the sex toy, then he would be one.

Pushing back on the huge member of Rick, Daryl smiled and pushed him back, riding him in a reverse cowgirl position, his cock bobbing and slapping against his stomach, red and wanting attention. Rick lay shocked, mouth agape and eyes rolling to the skies as the redneck pulled up and slammed down repeatedly, his back arched in a plain of alabaster white skin, scar riddled and beautiful. The other man reached to slap Daryl's ass, pulling it apart to see his prick disappear and reappear inside the man's anal cavity. "Uh— fuck.. harder! Ah, oh!" He started moaning lewdly, rotating his hips ever so slighty to give the ex-cop the friction he so longed for. Rick felt Daryl cup and fondle his balls, calloused fingers caressing him unlike he's never felt before. Tender. Affectionate. Then, Daryl stood up and tossed himself so his back lay on the green pasture and his legs spread eagled, giving himself to Rick. He smiled, raising an eyebrow as he reached to his ass and stretched his hole, muttering curses as Rick eye-fucked him, waiting. But no, Rick wasn't eye fucking him. It was different, something deeper. So he looked away, biting his lip as he tugged the man's member and guided it inside his welcoming, tight ass. He closed his eyes and felt Rick pump in, then out, and he says to himself, 'It's just the damn whiskey'. But he feels Rick make his pace slower, and Daryl sobbed out a moan, not daring to look him in the eyes. It was always—

"It's not the whiskey."

Rick breathed, kissing Daryl's neck as he laid his head on his chest, breathing the scent that was the hunter. Forests, peppermint and sweat. Somehow, it was a scent he grew fond of, needed a sniff every damn day. He always wants to see that face, soft and inviting waking up to him for the rest of his life, and not just in the morning when Rick's still asleep and he just walks away. They're so much more than that. They're brothers, they're lovers, and it wasn't the alcohol.

Daryl refused to believe this. So he snarled at him, finally looking him in the eyes as he desperately made a rythym for himself, heart thundering madly as the ex-cop tried to stop him. It wasn't like he hadn't done this before, being a slave, he meant. He was always a slave for his brother, because he was kin. To be there for your family is always the top of Daryl's list. Be it fucking your ass up until Sunday because he hadn't made the deal with Bob, and he needed a distraction, or else he'll kill everyone because of withdrawal or just being there, but he didn't, where was he when Merle cut off his hand and left? He was being Shane's toy. No one should love a person like him. He's lying, he's cheap, he's.. damaged goods.

"No."

Rick seemed to know what he was thinking as he stopped Daryl, pushing his head to face him. He doesn't know what to say, so he drops his head and kisses him tenderly, and Daryl knows this is forever, and he doesn't know if he could handle forever. He can't. But then Rick starts pushing in, soft and loving, he's making love to him, for Chrissakes.

"I'm already dead, Rick. Jus' a shell 'o what once was." Daryl said as he pulled away from Rick's lips, looking upwards and seeing nothing but the blue skies. He was waxing poetic and Rick was still doing what he was doing.

"No." Rick muttered again.

"I'm sorry, Rick." Daryl breathed, looking at the bottle of Jack Daniels laying beside his head.

"It's the whiskey."

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**A/N: HEY, GUISE. I've wrote this so long ago, but i've been terribly busy, and so, here I am, once more! dadadada. Imma post some more stories up here today, 'cause everyone's been so sweet to me and stuff.. I'm writing Destiel! that's the latest something in my life, and I am now officially not single. that's why my life is happy. and booze. i think i have a problem.**

**BUYEEEEE.**

**Stew, out!**


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